The Lion and the Serpent
by SpacedOutAnna
Summary: A memory, a saga, a prophecy: Slytherins and Gryffindors haven't gotten along since the Founders, but a prophecy heralds a new time of love, sacrifice and victory over the Dark as the Houses come together in 5 marriages. HGSS HPPP RWBZ DMGW CWOC
1. Prologue

January, 1997

  
  


Words tumbled out of the prophetess' mouth, fueled by the sweet liquid she held to her mouth.

  
  


"A long time ago, after the Romans had glimpsed the shores of Britain but before William conquered all - a school was founded in a quiet corner on an unquiet country. Founded by four friends, loyal and intelligent, brave and ambitious. At first there was peace, but in all things - conflict arose between Godric, lord of courage and Salazar, lord of cunning. Harsh blows and harsher words sealed a feud of hate. A feud only true love could halt. Birthing red, black and blond haired children - from the first glimpse true passion, from the first words true fate. A marriage. A few - five?" a giggle fell from red stained lips. 

  
  


Green eyes blinked confusedly as a black haired head turned toward her.

  
  


"You say something, Lav?" Pavrati asked, leafing through Witch Weekly as she swirled the red wine in her glass.

  
  


Lavender crinkled her nose and took a long drink of her own wine. "I dunno - I don't remember actually." She shrugged. "Well, must not've been that important."

  
  


September 1981

  
  


Charlie (or as he preferred to think of himself, CHARLES, as it sounded much more grown up) was pouting. He hadn't got to ride in the boat. His older brother Bill, lording over him all summer just because he was 13 and Charlie was only 11, had told him about a magical boat ride all the first years took across the lake when they first arrived at Hogwarts. Charlie hadn't got to ride on a boat, they had been shepherded quickly into carriages when the Hogwarts Express had pulled into Hogsmeade. 

  
  


If Charlie had thought about it, he perhaps may have been perturbed by the dozen or so Aurors hovering around the crowd of children unloading off the train. If Charlie had managed to stay awake past 9:30, he might've heard his father floo home at quarter to 12 the night before and might've heard his father's urgent whispers to his mother. Of a Dark Lord very much still at large, and the family of wizards who had been his victims that evening, and the small toddler left all alone. Charlie might've remembered the Longbottoms, the smiling couple who always greeted him gaily when they saw he and his family in Diagon Alley and remembered the now orphaned Neville whom he had glimpsed sleeping in the pram. 

  
  


But Charlie was 11. And very angry he had not gotten to go on a boat. By the time he and his companions in the carriage, seeming to be drawn by nothing, he had decided quite firmly that Bill had lied to him and would be sending a letter home tattling on his older brother. 

  
  


It was only when he came to this decision that he turned to the girl sitting next to him on the bench. 

  
  


She was staring out the window and gave a quiet, "Oh!" when the carriage turned and Hogwarts was suddenly there, rising above the mists of the lake. 

  
  


She turned to him and her long black braid swung around, tied with a silver ribbon that shone in the moonlight. "Isn't it lovely?"

  
  


"It's certainly big," Charlie agreed gravely.

  
  


"My brother, well half-brother, told me all about it. He says it'll be the best years of my life." Her black eyes were wide.

  
  


"My older brother told me about it too. Though he said there'd be boats."

  
  


She looked faintly puzzled. "So did mine actually. Well, Randolph hasn't been at Hogwarts for ages so maybe there aren't any anymore."

  
  


Charlie considered that. "You may be right."

  
  


She cocked her head towards him. "What's your name?"

  
  


"Charles Weasley," he replied promptly.

  
  


Her brow crinkled. "Weasleys. I don't think I've heard of the Weasleys. Are you ..." her voice dropped, "Muggleborn?"

  
  


Charlie gave her an odd look. "No. We've been around for a long time. I'm the seventh generation to attend Hogwarts, and we've all been in Gryffindor."

  
  


She gave a little sniff. "We've been attending for 9 generations - and Zabinis are ALWAYS in Slythern - at least, that's what Randolph says. I'm Helen Zabini by the way." She held out her hand primly and Charlie took it gingerly.

  
  


"It's nice to meet you," he said seriously.

  
  


He was later informed, after the Welcoming Feast where he had been predictably sorted into Gryffindor, that he wasn't to see the girl with the pretty black braid again. Bill had told him with all the authority of a third year, that Slytherins were the very worst sort - especially ones like the Zabinis. Though he still doubted the boats, Bill's words had held such weight all of Charlie's life that he had quietly accepted them. He tried not to think about the glow of the ribbon or the look in her eyes. Or how as the years passed and they both grew, how nicely Helen Zabini - a popular and powerful Slytherin by her 6th year - filled out her uniform, her long smooth legs exposed by the short skirts she preferred. She was a Slytherin, and Gryffindors barely had civil words for Slytherins, much less dated them - so Charlie never spoke to her again at Hogwarts, a feeling of faint regret falling over him on the last train ride home after he had graduated and he caught a glimpse of sharp black eyes framed by long dark lashes watching him.

  
  


August 2002

  
  


The sunshine was like honey draped over the stone terrace, filled with tables holding laughing people in the late afternoon light. Many women held lace parasols, but more as a statement rather than protection, dyed to match their colourful summer dresses. It was everything a wedding should be, reflected the groom as he sat back in his seat, one arm draped along the shoulders of his new bride.

  
  


Harry laughed at a joke Ron was telling across the table, but more at when Hermione smacked their friend on the arm for the rather lewd ending. "Ron! Not around my unborn child if you please!" she ran a languid hand over her curved middle, turning the parasol her husband insisted she carry at all times today above her head. Harry shared a sardonic glance with her said husband, dark green eyes meeting black.

  
  


"Good call on buying those baby books from that muggle store, old man."

  
  


The 'old man' as Harry called him rolled his eyes. "Yes well, I'll extend them along should Pansy somehow find herself expecting again after the honeymoon." Severus replied, twisting one of his wife's chestnut curls around a strong finger.

  
  


Harry shook his head. "I think not - we're going to try to keep it to every two years. I can't imagine more than ONE baby right now."

  
  


Severus shook his head. "You may not, but when it happens - it always feels right, no matter the timing."

  
  


Speaking of timing, the tower that Severus' eldest had been building with blocks on the warmed stone next to the table chose that moment to topple and Sebastian cried in startlement. Hermione turned from her continuing lecture to Ron and Blaise to open her arms for her son to run to. When Sebastian was settled she extended a hand to caress the hair of the child sleeping in Ron's partners' arms, the small girl thoroughly exhausted by the day while her twin continued to run and play. Eleanor Zabini was a thorough mix of Zabini and Weasley with her dark hair and freckles scattered across her nose, and very much the girl of both her Papas, as she lay from Ron's lap into Blaise's strong embrace.

  
  


Harry turned his gaze out to the crowd of about 100, he didn't know real numbers - he had left that to his wife, to search for his own daughter. Last he had seen, Ginny Malfoy had been showing her off to some old House mates, her newly announced pregnancy not quite apparent. Harry followed Draco's, seated across the table, possessive gaze to spot her a few tables away, indeed still carrying Harry's own little April, content in her god-mother's arms. 

  
  


The Malfoy's son was playing with his Zabini counterpart under a shady tree not too far away but they were only two of many children present that day.

  
  


Harry felt a deep sense of happiness and fulfilment this day, a great deal because the woman next to him. His lopsided grin caught Pansy's attention and she turned her head to grace him with a soft kiss on his cheek.

  
  


"It's perfect, isn't it?" she murmured. "All our family, friends..." Well, mostly and her words evoked images of the two who should have been at their time - their sacrifice paid to bring peace and this afternoon.

  
  


Harry caught her hand in his and raised it to his lips. "It is perfect, love."

  
  


Slytherin and Gryffindor - perfect, happy, in love. It near boggled the mind when he thought how it had all happened and he started to remember.....


	2. Chapter 1 : Somewhere I Belong

Chapter 1

February 1997

(When this began)  
I had nothing to say   
And I get lost in the nothingness inside of me   
(I was confused)   
And I let it all out to find  
That I'm not the only person with these things in mind   
(Inside of me)   
But all that they can see the words revealed   
Is the only real thing that I've got left to feel   
(Nothing to lose)   
Just stuck, hollow and alone   
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own   
I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real   
I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long  
(Erase all the pain till it's gone)  
I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm close to something real  
I wanna find something I've wanted all along   
Somewhere I belong   
And I've got nothing to say  
I can't believe I didn't fall right down on my face   
(I was confused)   
Looking everywhere only to find  
That it's not the way I had imagined it all in my mind  
(So what am I)   
What do I have but negativity   
'Cause I can't justify the way, everyone is looking at me   
(Nothing to lose)   
Nothing to gain, hollow and alone   
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own   
I will never know myself until I do this on my own  
And I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed  
I will never be anything till I break away from me  
I will break away, I'll find myself today  
I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm somewhere I belong  
I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm somewhere I belong  
Somewhere I belong

His sixth year, Draco Malfoy did not return from Christmas vacation. His sixth year, Goyle and Crabb traded a secret and worried glance as they entered the Great Hall for the first breakfast of the new year without their ringleader. Owls were sent to Malfoy Manor, first without reply and then as they became more insistent a single raven carried a single sentence as a reply towards Hogwarts.

'Should he have a son, as Lucius Malfoy does not, he would not be aware of his whereabouts.' The green ink was scratched sharply into the slip of vellum.

They found Draco Malfoy the next morning, lying upon the stone steps of Hogwarts, his blood staining the surrounding snow crimson. Mrs. Norris had led Filch to the boy as the sun rose, casting burnt orange across the sky, the light reflecting off the boy's pale hair. Blood still ran from his veins in a slow trickle, creating rivers running down his alabaster arms.

Madame Pomfrey would later say that if they had found him only a few hours later, Draco would have been dead. As it was, he was as white as the starched hospital sheets covering his bare chest when Ginny saw him the following day.

Ever since she was a small girl, all Ginny had ever wanted to be was a mediwitch. When the twins tore the arms off her favourite rag doll, Ginny performed simple surgery, counting stitches under her breath as she healed her doll as best as a seven year old could. When she was ten and lonely, the Burrow seeming dreadfully quiet now that Ron had gone to Hogwarts, she found a baby bird at the foot of an elm tree. It's wing was broken and she nursed it back to health - she named it Harry. When the spring came after a winter of Harry sleeping on her windowsill in what had been her mother's sewing basket, and he flew away, Ginny was immeasurably proud but could not contain her tears.

So in Ginny's fifth year, Madame Pomfrey had offered the budding healer an apprenticeship of sorts, to learn the basics of medicine before she could formally attend Mediwitchery school once she graduated from Hogwarts.

When Ginny saw Draco that bright winter morning, the rivers of ruby red blood had been washed from his arms but the charcoal of the two long gashes on were clearly visible. For the first time in her recollection, Draco seemed to have an air of peace about him, lying in that hospital bed. Ginny's natural empathy had first drawn her to Draco after her tumultous fourth year. She had seen him get off the Hogwarts Express once he had shaken off the curses borne courtesy of members of Dumbledore's Army. Upon stepping onto the platform, Draco had stopped for a moment and a wave of emotions had crossed his face. The confident and sneering face - what she suddenly realized to be a facade - that he wore at Hogwats fell away to fear and obedience when he saw the particular gleam of light off of his father's pale hair. Hair that Draco had inherited. Lucius Malfoy stood 100 paces away and Ginny felt a quiet horror creep over her as father and son's eyes met. Draco's torment was suddenly revealed in his eyes until they shuttered again as he picked up his trunk strode towards his father. The two men had kept equal pace as they left the station that day, and the image haunted Ginny for the rest of the summer. She breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief when she saw Draco on the train the following September - almost as if she had expected to hear news of some accident. An accident she would never believe to truly be accidental.

So Ginny wasn't surprised to see Draco in that hospital bed, though no word of his arrival had spread to the student population.

She didn't know if it was the sound of her breathing or perhaps he simply just sensed her presence but Draco began to stir in the bed. His grey eyes shot open and he screamed.

Ginny dropped her schoolbag to the floor and rushed to his side, grabbing his shoulders and shaking them. "Draco! DRACO!"

And just as suddenly as he began to scream - he stopped.

And looked at her.

"Wha - wher..." he began before he started to cough.

Ginny handed him a glass of water from the bedside table and he took a long drink. When his eyes met hers again, she smiled soothingly.

"You're at Hogwarts, Draco."

His shoulders released the tension they had held. "Hogwarts."

"Yes."

His eyes scanned the Infirmary, drinking in every sunlit detail. "I'm not dead."

Ginny's eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "No, you're not dead."

Draco let out a long slow breath and lifted an arm to run a hand through his hair. But he stopped. And stared at his arm.

His expression, which had been open only a few moments ago suddenly shuttered closed like it had last year. Ginny looked towards him as he traced a long, lean finger up the charcoal gash running up his arm.

"They wanted me to take the mark," he began conversationally, as if he was speaking of the weather. "It was New Year's Eve and father said it would herald a new time, a time of victory. Victory. I really thought I could do it too. All the way down to the dungeons of the Manor, holding onto the portkey - I was ready. I kept telling myself that I could do it. But then, when I was standing there - something inside of me started to scream. So I screamed. I startled my father and he missed and sliced down my arm."

---

A scream had erupted from his lips and now another bubbled as Draco looked down at his arm, where he had rolled up his white Oxford only a few minutes ago. Where the Dark Mark was supposed to go. From where now, blood gushed. He raised horrified eyes to Lucius' drawn face.

"Father...?"

Lucius scowled and leaned forward to hiss at him, though his words seemed loud in the silence of the clearing. Voldemort and a dozen other Death Eaters stood there - watching him. "Stupid boy, what possesed you to scream like that?"

"I - I don't know, Father." Draco looked back to the red and took a deep gulping breath. "I - I don't feel very well, Father."

"The other arm," came the hiss from behind Draco. Draco screwed his eyes shut, knowing the Voldemort was gliding up behind him but couldn't look at the man all others present called 'Lord'. "It'll have to be the other arm, Lucius."

"Yes, m'lord." Lucius bobbed his head and grabbed his sons' bleeding arm, the blood now flowing against his palm. "Your other sleeve, boy."

Draco only stared back at his father. "I can't."

Rage flooded Lucius' face. "What did you say boy?!"

"I - can't father. I can't do this. Please, don't make me do this. I don't want to serve him! Don't make me!"

A gasp had risen up from those assembled as father and son stared at eachother. Lucius black eyes bore into Draco's grey. And for a golden - tremulous moment, Draco saw respite in the eyes of his father. The eyes of the man who should have been protecting him, not handing him to a monster. And then the moment was gone. Lucius raised his wand again and the blade of light pierced into Draco's other arm and he only knew pain.

And that he needed to go home.

To Hogwarts.

---

The dark of the night was suddenly blinded by the sun as Draco opened his eyes. The concerned face of Ginny Weasley swam above him as she slapped him lightly on the cheek. 

"Draco! Draco - speak to me!"

With a groan, Draco slipped back into the warm embrace of unconciousness and knew no more.


	3. Chapter 2 : My Favourite Mistake

Chapter 2

My Favourite Mistake

  
  


I woke up and called this morning  
The tone of your voice was a warning  
That you don't care for me anymore  
  
I made up the bed we sleep in  
I looked at the clock when you creep in  
It's 6 a.m. and I'm alone

  


Did you know when you go  
It's the perfect ending  
To the bad day I was just beginning  
When you go all I know is  
You're my favorite mistake  
  
Your friends are sorry for me  
They watch you pretend to adore me  
But I'm no fool to this game  
  
Now here comes your secret lover  
She'd be unlike any other  
Until your guilt goes up in flames  
  
You're my favorite mistake  
  
Well maybe nothin' lasts forever  
Even when you stay together  
I don't need forever after  
It's your laughter won't let me go  
So I'm holding on this way  
  
Did you know, could you tell  
You were the only one   
That I ever loved  
Now everything's so wrong  
  
Did you see me walking by?  
Did it ever make you cry?  
  
You're my favorite mistake  
You're my favorite mistake  
You're my favorite mistake

It was just after 6 when Hermione woke up, the sun peeking over the Scottish horizon. And she was alone in the bed. With a sigh she sat up, pulling the strap of her nightgown up to her shoulder and ran another hand through her hair. The curtains were halfway open, through which she could see that Dean and Seamus both still snored in their beds, that Neville's was empty - accounting for the sound of the shower running in the adjoining bathroom - and that Ron's bed was as immaculate as it had been last night. When Harry had taken her hand and laying kisses down her neck, had coaxed her... who was she kidding, he hadn't coaxed ANYONE. She had willingly followed him to bed, as she always did.

With a quiet sigh, she slipped out of the bed and went to the window closest to his bed, grateful that her red silk nightgown went to her mid-calves this morning, from where you could see the Quidditch pitch clearly. Sure enough, a single speck drifted above it and she raised her hand to the paned glass - as if reaching out to Harry. But as hard as she always reached, she could never quite connect.

Harry loved her, there was no doubt of that. And she loved him. But, it wasn't any sort of undying, pure love or even a romantic sort of affection. She was his best friend, he hers - they had lost their virginity to each other. It was.... comfortable. Easy for Harry. Unbelievably painful for Hermione.

He would take her to bed, but couldn't wake up to her. He could kiss her but there was no real feeling behind it. Every display of affection, rubbing her neck, an arm around her waist - it meant nothing to him. It had once met everything to her, until she truly realized that this would never be what she needed in a relationship. There may be women who could accept that kind of stilted, though well meaning, affection and friendly attraction for a lifetime - but it wasn't for her. Hermione wanted someone whom when she walked into a room - his eyes were upon her. She wanted someone to talk to about her interests, Harry's eyes glazed when you went beyond Quidditch and bitching about teachers, becoming hard when you mentioned anything about Voldemort - she wanted real love. Real attraction. To feel something real.

She took a deep shuddering breath as a hand touched her shoulder and she turned to face her other best friend.

"Hey 'Mione," Ron gave her a lopsided grin. "What're you doing up so early?"  
She shrugged. "I woke up and Harry was gone... I was worried."

Ron's eyes turned sympathetic and Hermione bit back a sob. She hated being this focus of pity, for trailing after Harry when everyone knew he only saw her as a friend, and a warm bed partner.

"I know you worry about him, 'Mione - but you don't need to." Ron spoke softly, trying not to wake up Dean and Seamus.

"If I don't who will?" she asked bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. She watched Harry suddenly point his broom towards the ground and shoot down, spiralling. She held her breath. It was beautiful and moving to watch him fly but it scared her silly. Behind her, Ron put his hands on her shoulders as together, they watched the Boy Who Lived plummet towards the ground, waiting until the last possibly second to pull up. Hermione shut her eyes tightly as he sped towards the sky again. She could imagine the look of fierce joy and concentration on his face right now. Flying was the only place where he truly found happiness anymore.

"He's depressed, Ron." she whispered.

"He's been depressed since fifth year."

"No, Ron - I mean he's really depressed. I'm scared. With those reports of increased Death Eater activity... how long is it going to bed until he has to face Voldemort again?" Hermione could picture Ron's flinch at her words as his grip on her shoulders tightened. "He's getting reckless. I don't even know if he wants to win anymore."

"He does. He has to. He's our only hope."

She nodded quietly and turned around in Ron's embrace to bury her face against his strong chest, breathing in deeply. Her nose wrinkled and she pulled away. "What in hell is that smell?"

Ron shrugged, embarassed. "Some Muggle aftershave Justin uses."

She stepped back, hands on her hips. "Ronald Arthur Weasley, you promised me that you had broken it off with Justin Finch-Fletchly - what were you calling him last week? 'The lying bastard who I never want to speak to ever again'? You're just setting yourself up to get hurt again..."

Ron shook his head fiercely. "I'm not, Hermione. I have my eyes wide open this time. This is just physical now. No promises, no emotions."

An ironic smile curved her lips. "That's what you said last time," she reminded him softly.

He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. "I'll be OK. I just... ran into him last night on my patrols and we got to talking and then..."

Hermione held up a hand, shaking her head. "Ron, I don't want to hear about you being stupid again. I'm your friend and I love you - but you're being an idiot, you know that right?"

He sighed deeply and slowly nodded, though he looked at her again with a raised eyebrow. "Like you're really one to talk."

She looked away, shifting. "We're not talking about me."

"Now we are."

Hermione scowled. "I know it has to end. It's just..."

"What?" Ron asked, raising her chin with a finger so she had to meet his warm blue eyes with her own brandy brown.

"I - I bring some comfort to him - which he needs Ron, and ... " the look in Ron's eyes was to honest for her to lie like this. She gave a defeated sigh. "Tonight. I'll end it tonight."

"Good girl," Ron stepped forward and brushed a kiss across her forehead. "Now go on back to your own bed, try and get a few more minutes of sleep."

She nodded and returning his kiss across his cheek, slipped out of the 6th year boys dormitories. She was halfway down the steps to the common room when she stopped.

Harry was pulling off his jumper when he saw her, and completed pulling it over his head before he spoke. "Hey."

"Hey," she shifted, uncomfortable above him on the stairs.

He stepped up to brush her cheek. "When did you wake up?" He craned his neck to kiss her but she laid a hand on his chest. It was now or never it seemed, a perfect opportunity for what she needed to say. 

A soft, "No, Harry" escaped her lips.

"No?" he asked, surprise crossing his features.

She shook her head miserably. "I - we, can't do this anymore. It's too hard. I don't even know what we are, and I need to know where we stand."

"We're friends, 'Mione." Harry gave her a slight smile.

"Friends who screw eachother? Friends with benefits? I don't want that, Harry. I thought it would be enough - but it's not."

"I see." Harry gave her a long look, then shrugged. "If that's what you want."

Hermione bit her lip. "It is."

"Okay."

They stood for a long moment, neither one looking at eachother until Harry sighed. "Can I go take a shower now?"

Hermione sucked in a breath, nodding and stepping to the side so he could pass her. She turned quickly and ran down the stairs lightly, so he wouldn't see the tears trickling down her cheeks. She was in the common room when she saw Ginny slip out the portrait. 

---

It was always warm in the Infirmary, so Ginny pulled off her overrobe when she entered that morning, leaving herself in her blouse and skirt. There were three patients in beds, two second years who had snuck out of the castle and had managed to eat poisonous winter berries, their two beds at the very front of the infirmary. Ginny checked both of their temperatures, satisfied they were declining steadily, before she slipped to the very back, to the other occupied bed. She slipped through the curtain around Draco's cot and stopped to look at him.

He was beautiful in the sun light, as it made his nearly translucent skin glow. He had more colour to his cheeks today, and his arms were bandaged so that you could no longer see the two long scars. Scars he would bear for the rest of his life, magicked so that they could not be properly healed. Ginny sat at the side of his bed and checked the wraps over his ribs and taking in his parched lips, dipped a cloth in the jug of water next to his bed and wiped it across his mouth. She had warmed the water and was gently washing his face when his eyelashes fluttered and his eyes opened.

"Weasley..." he breathed, blinking. "I thought I had hallucinated you, you look like an angel..."

Ginny gave him a startled smile. "Well, I can assure you I'm not an angel - just ask any of my brothers."

He snorted, "I'm sure." He started to try and push himself up into a sitting position then gave a shocked gasp of pain. Ginny eased him back down onto the bed.

"No sudden movements for you, Mr. Malfoy - your ribs are still very tender and you're still weak from blood loss." she admonished in him in a good impression of her mother.

He gave her a sardonic glance. "How long will I be in here?"

Ginny cocked her head to the side, figuring. "A week, perhaps two."

He groaned and she smiled. "We want to make sure you're all healed up Mr. Malfoy."

A grey eye fixed her in it's gaze. "You called me Draco yesterday."

Ginny frowned. "Did I? Well, that must have been a mistake. It's proper for a healer to address her patients by their formal names."

Draco shook his head at her. "I'm not even a Malfoy anymore, I'd bet you anything my father has already disowned me."

Ginny nodded quietly in affirmation. Draco closed his eyes for a moment and then turned his head back towards her. "You see, there's no point in calling me Malfoy. Call me Draco."

She took a deep breath in. "All right. Now, are you feeling up to some breakfast this morning?"

And so started what was a bad day for Hermione, but a good one for Ginny as a pair of grey eyes remained fixed on her.


	4. Chapter 3 : Angels

Chapter 3

Angels

I sit and wait  
Does an angel contemplate my fate  
And do they know  
The places where we go  
When we're grey and old  
'cos I have been told  
That salvation lets their wings unfold  
So when I'm lying in my bed  
Thoughts running through my head  
And I feel the love is dead  
I'm loving angels instead  
  
And through it all she offers me protection  
A lot of love and affection  
Whether I'm right or wrong  
And down the waterfall  
Wherever it may take me  
I know that life won't break me  
When I come to call she won't forsake me  
I'm loving angels instead  
  
When I'm feeling weak  
And my pain walks down a one way street  
I look above  
And I know I'll always be blessed with love  
And as the feeling grows  
She breathes flesh to my bones  
And when love is dead  
I'm loving angels instead  
  
And through it all she offers me protection  
A lot of love and affection  
Whether I'm right or wrong  
And down the waterfall  
Wherever it may take me  
I know that life won't break me  
When I come to call she won't forsake me  
I'm loving angels instead  
  
And through it all she offers me protection  
A lot of love and affection  
Whether I'm right or wrong  
And down the waterfall  
Wherever it may take me  
I know that life won't break me  
When I come to call she won't forsake me  
I'm loving angels instead

It was night when he remembered. It was when Madam Pomfrey had blown out the candles and taken away his empty cup of chamomile tea that he shivered under the blankets as he tried to sleep. Not that he really wanted to sleep. When he slept, red eyes glowed through a misty darkness and he saw his father's furious, ashamed face. His fathers hands - hands that hadn't been there to help with him this first step, but had handed him a broomstick not too long after - clenching in anger.

But not sleeping was almost worse. He had to think when he wasn't sleeping. Think about what he had done. Why had he done that?

Draco wasn't exactly sure, but it may have been the revulsion he felt when looking upon Voldemort's tight, serpent face. Or the nausea when those eyes were upon him. Most of all, it was the feeling of wrongness. Why should he have to bear a mark which showed his allegiance to Voldemort? He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys should kneel to no one. Above that, he had been trained to be a lord ever since he gave his nurse his first dirty look when she told him to get in the bath. No one told him what to do - he was to be the next Lord Malfoy, over the estates that his father's family had held for generations. True enough, they were only still theirs because of his father's precipitous marriage to the wealthy Lestrange heiress, Narcissa - but his mother was the jewel in their crown. These thoughts had rushed through his head as he had followed his father towards the group of Death Eaters, towards what he thought was to be his destiny. 

Until that night, he had never really thought about whether Voldemort was going to win. He had always been told that the Dark Lord would rise again, his father pounding his fist into the breakfast table when he was 13 - once he had risen and Lucius had rejoiced, Draco had just assumed that Voldemort would be victorious. His father wouldn't pick a losing side.

He had dismissed Potter. So what if the boy had had a lucky break once. He had no more mothers to give their lives for him. He had discounted Dumbledore - the man was getting senile, he was so old, always with his candy. How could the Professor with the twinkle in his eye be a threat? 

Dumbledore's Army, tossed aside as a group of wannabe adolescents. The Order of the Phoenix, only rumours - couldn't possibly be real. 

It had seemed dreadfully real to Draco that cold winters' night. 

What if they lost? What if Potter and his friends had gotten lucky again. Grudgingly.... what if they lived up to the promise they showed.

These thoughts had been in Draco's mind but one came to the forefront. I will not serve. I will not kneel. 

I will bear no mark.

Draco's eyes closed tightly as he remembered.

He had seen his father's mark only occasionally, upon the times when his father sat in his study, reading papers and smoking. He would sometimes roll up the sleeves of his silk shirt, and the dark mark would be stark against Lucius' white skin.

Draco had asked to touch it once. He had been six. He was told quite succinctly, that it was not for children to touch - but for men to bear.

Draco had no intention of bearing anything against his will. Least of all a tattoo to show his allegiance to a perhaps crazed madman.

And he honestly thought his father would understand. That Lucius would spare his own son from such a servitude. So he didn't feel the physical pain when Lucius struck him with his wand, the fury and hate in his father's eyes was painful enough. He knew from that moment, he was disinherited: no longer his father's son. And it hurt. Hurt more than he had ever thought it would.

Yet, as he lay in this hospital bed, the rough cotton against his skin so different from the 400 thread count sheets at home, that pain was ebbing. It was being replaced by an anger Draco had never known. How dare Lucius.

How dare Lucius take away his birthright, his name - his life? Draco was a Malfoy, with better breeding than either of his parents. His father had been from a poor noble family with vast tracts of land, useless for sale though. Narcissa had been an heiress of a family that had been founded by a middle class merchant wizard in the 18th century. It had crawled up the social scale, climbed it's own ladders of gold until Narcissa won them their greatest prize yet: the Malfoy name. Lucius had been entranced by her pale blond hair, so like his own, and the promise of Galleons in her golden eyes. Draco was the cumulative better of his parents - the better of his father.

Draco would not be turned away from his birthright. He couldn't. The rage was so great it was choking him and he took in a deep gulping breath, wrenching his eyes open. Looking into the brandy brown gaze of Ginny Weasley.

"Draco?" she whispered, extending a hand to brush over his forehead.

"Weasley...." he whispered and took her hand, pulling him towards him, on top of him. She gave a surprised squeak but settled against him.

Draco breathed in the scent of her hair - was it lavender? - and breathed again. Easier.

She turned her head slightly to look at him. "Are you all right?"  
Draco nodded tightly. She gave him another look. "Really all right?"

He tried to look brave but couldn't. He averted his eyes. "I was... thinking."

"I see," she replied noncommitally. "And you couldn't sleep."

"I don't like sleeping."

"It's good to sleep," she murmured, brushing a hand over his forehead again. Draco closed his eyes at the feeling. It felt.... right. Righter than anything else had felt in his memory. How did Ginny Weasley have this effect on him?

"Not when you have my nightmares." He gave her a glare which set many an ickle firstie shaking in their boots.

Her eyes only darkened as she returned his glare soberly. "We all have nightmares, Draco."

"Oh really?" his voice dropped. "And what exactly do you have nightmares about, Weasley? Another ugly sweater from your mother? Spiders - just like your ever so brave brother?"

She didn't even blink. "I have nightmares about blood Malfoy, drawing letters with it. I have nightmares about giant snakes. About chambers I opened that are dark and cold - and a man who talks to me in whispers - in my diary, in my mind. And I can still hear him..." she trailed off and bit her lip.

Draco stared at her. He had forgotten the part little Ginny Weasley had played in the opening of the Chamber of Secrets his second year. Looking at her, you'd never think she'd seen that kind of horror - had personally spoken and communicated with the young Lord Voldemort. During the day, she was a laughing, smiling sprite, who tossed her long red hair and giggled among her little Gryffindork friends. He knew. He had watched Ginny Weasley for a long time now. And now, in the dark, she seemed so vulnerable and scared - yet her eyes held a darkness he couldn't quite understand.

He reached for her, "Weasley..."

She shook her head and sat up slightly. "Why is it I call you Draco and you call me Weasley. I do have a name, you know, I'm not defined by my family, distinctive as we may be."

He gave her a lopsided smile and reached for her, "Ginny." The name slipped off his lips - like he'd always been meant to say it.

The smile she gave him was worth every syllable as she let him pull her against him. She frowned up at him. "Why couldn't you sleep, Draco?"

There was no lying to her now, not like this, when the feel of her body and the scent of her hair were washing over him like a tidal wave. "I was thinking, about my father. About... this," he raised one pale arm and dropped it back down onto the mattress.

She ran a finger down his scar, gently. Not light enough to tickle, but enough to give him shivers. Pomfrey had removed the bandages that afternoon, and so the black line was dark against his skin.

"I think I knew," she finally quietly told him.

"Knew what?"

"That you couldn't sleep. I was lying up in bed, but I was restless. And I had Quidditch practise today, so I should have been exhausted. Ron's even worse than Angelina was last year. But I was lying there, and thinking about you.... and I kind of felt that you weren't sleeping either. So I decided to come down here. " As if the words had been to great an admission she sat up from Draco, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her bare legs. Draco suddenly realized that she was sitting in front of him in nothing but a pair of extremely short tartan shorts and a black sweater that tied around her waist. Draco couldn't even think about what she might be wearing under the sweater. He shifted slightly, onto his side, reaching out a hand to run down her shin.

"I'm glad you came," the admission from him was probably as difficult as her own had been.

She smiled at him, and caught his hand in hers. "I am too."

They were quiet then, as they sat. Draco lay there, on a thin, lumpy hospital bed. And he began to heal, there with his red haired angel.


	5. Chapter 4 : Fallen

Chapter 4

Fallen

Heaven bent to take my hand

And lead me through the fire

Be the long awaited answer

to a long and painful fight

  
  


Truth be told I've tried my best

But somewhere along the way

I got caught up in all there was to offer

And the cost was so much more than I could bear

  
  


Though I've tried, I've fallen..

I have sunk so low

I have messed up

Better I should know

So don't come round here

And tell me I told you so....

  
  


We all begin with good intent

Love was raw and young

We believed that we could change ourselves

The past could be undone

But we carry on our back the burden

Time always reveals

The lonely light of morning

The wound that would not heal

It's the bitter taste of losing everything

That I've held so dear.

  
  


Heaven bent to take my hand

Nowhere left to turn

I'm lost to those I thought were friends

to everyone I know

Oh they turned their heads embarassed

Pretend that they don't see

But it's one missed step

You'll slip before you know it

And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed

  
  


The morning after Ginny had visited Draco in the dark of night the light of day seemed especially harsh to a man, waking alone in his bed - as Hermione had the previous morning. But for him, it was no shock. The loneliness of his mornings were only a reminder of the empty life he lived. Had lived, for twenty years now. Since that one night where he had bared his arm, lightly muscled from the Quidditch he played for the Slytherin house squad those last 3 years. Bared his arm to a smirking Lucius, and had bore the pain of the tattoo being burned into his skin. A wound he could see now, against the black sheets - never faded, nor healed. Like the wound in his heart.

Severus Snape shook himself out of his musing and threw back the silken covers of the bed, laying his feet upon the cold flagstone floor with a grimace. He could have rugs placed in here, he had numerous in his family's home, lying in storage, woven of bright blues and muted greens. But this little inconvenience, small shock in the morning was part of the penance he dealt himself, each and every day. He stood and moved to the window, where the slightly ajar curtains were letting beams of the grey light filter through. Pulling one to the side, he gazed out over the dreary Scottish morning - like so many he had seen.

And like every morning, the pain pierced him as he saw the clouds move against the sky. Though he lives in the dungeons, and the first floor of his rooms indeed had no windows, his bedroom and study were above ground, so he didn't live in perpetual darkness. Sometimes he wished he could. He almost wished it was more miserable today, it would suit his mood more properly. But if weather was forced to suit Severus' moods every day, there would never be a blue sky to be seen. With a slight snarl, he dropped the curtain and made his way to the shower, dropping his silk pyjamas in the hamper on his way. He had forbidden any House elf to enter his quarters without express permission since the beginning of his tenure at Hogwarts - nearly twenty years ago now. The Snape family had practised fair hiring for centuries now - ever since one of his great grandfathers had represented the House elves in an unsuccessful negotiation for better rights and upon losing, had forbidden any of his descendants from making use of them. Severus also appreciated his absolutely privacy, so found it no great hardship.

  
  


When the water of his shower sluiced his skin, Severus let out a sigh. Another day, another endless day. 

  
  


---

  
  


A day made painful by the presence of Neville Longbottom. Severus bit back a curse as behind his back, he heard the quiet shatter of a vial and the murmured, "Eep!" Severus closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then to ten in french. Italian. Latin. Goblin. Aramaic. He would have moved on to Russian but he was interrupted by a resigned "Abstergeo!"

  
  


He turned to see Hermione Granger finishing the flick of her wand and turning to give Neville a steely look. "Honestly, Nev - what did we talk about last night? A quick charm can fix most..." she trailed off when she felt warm breath on the back of her neck.

  
  


"Miss Granger, unless I am mistaken - I am the professor of this class, am I not?" he breathed.

  
  


She turned to face him, tilting her chin to look him in the eye. She gave a perfunctory smile and widened her hazel eyes. "Of course Professor, I had just previously suggested to Neville that rather than panicking after breaking a vial, he - "

  
  


"Use a cleaning charm to cover his error? What if the solution is noxious Miss Granger, or so acidic that it burns through the floor before you can complete the first syllable?"

The confident look on her face faded somewhat. "But we rarely work in such dangerous chemicals, sir - and I thought it would help Neville."

  
  


"It doesn't matter what you think, girl. I am the professor here and unless I ask for your input, which would be a highly unlikely occurrence - there is no need for you to open your smart mouth." Her jaw was hanging slightly open so he pushed her mouth closed with a finger. With a sneer, he leaned in to whisper into her ear, "And don't leave your mouth open quite like that, unless you're waiting for someone to put something into it." He spun on his heel to turn to Longbottom, cowering beside them and proceeded to start his lecture.

  
  


---

  
  


At dinner, he observed quite easily from the Teacher's table that Hermione was still fuming. She was picking at her food, and the usual antics of the Gryffindor table, namely Ron and Harry joking around as Dean and Seamus bickered, didn't seem to pick up her mood as it usually could. Severus smirked down into his dinner, which unfortunately was caught by Professor Dumbledore. When he got up to leave, the elder Professor followed him down the private corridor for Professors.

  
  


"Severus," he called and Snape obediently stopped.

  
  


He turned to face the man who had been his saviour, whose pity now felt so like a dagger. "Albus, what can I do for you?"  


"I heard about what happened with the sixth year Gryffindors today, really Severus - that comment was inappropriate."

  
  


"Miss Granger is a big girl," Severus sniffed.

  
  


"Yes she is, but it must be a difficult time for her. She and Harry recently split, if you didn't know." Albus took off his glasses ponderously. "I was quite disappointed really, I could see a good match between those two."

  
  


"I hardly make it my business to keep up with the students' affairs. And it would not have been a good match, Miss Granger is far too intelligent to stay with Potter for any long stretch of time," Severus crossed his arms. He had been aware of the relationship between Potter and Granger, but not of their split. Interesting, perhaps Miss Granger finally woke up to the reality she was making herself the plaything of a dunderhead.

  
  


"It is true that she shows great aptitude, Severus." Albus gave the Potions Master a long look and Severus suddenly realized he had painted himself into a corner. "That's why I want you to invite her to apply for the Potions apprenticeship over the summer."

  
  


"What?!" The Potions apprenticeship was a position of studying over the summer months with Snape, usually offered to only seventh years as a precursor to further studies once they had graduated Hogwarts. "She's still a sixth year - "

  
  


"And the brightest mind in Hogwarts right now. Really, which of the seventh years could you offer it to?" Albus asked reasonably.

Severus set his jaw. It was true most of the seventh years who showed the slightest interest in potions were either dunderheads or had no interest in pursuing studies over months they usually whittled away rather than work upon improving their minds. He made a decision, considering that it was probably already made, as Albus had suggested it ever so subtly. "I'll ask her to submit a thesis, but she'll compete against everyone else. If she doesn't have the best thesis - then you can't expect me to take her on."

  
  


"Of course not, Severus," Albus beamed. "I must be on my way now, but have a lovely evening." With a swirl of blindingly purple robes, he swept away.

  
  


Severus was still muttering about 'lovely evenings' and his general dislike of perky people when he crossed into the public halls and spotted a lone figure stamping down the hall towards him.

  
  


She was muttering under her breath as she approached, "Oblivious..... git.... greasy...."

  
  


She was only cut off by a quiet, "Miss Granger."

  
  


Hermione stopped, only a foot away from the Professor she had just passed, and spun to face him. She made a face, but settled her shoulders. "Professor."

  
  


"What are you doing in this part of the castle? It's rather far from your tower," he asked.

  
  


"I'm on patrol, sir," she bit off, crossing her arms.

  
  


"Of course. Then it's actually fortunate I ran into you, I require some words with you."

  
  


"About more reasons to keep my jaw shut?" she fumed.

  
  


He started to snap back, but stopped himself. "I suppose I should start by apologizing for my rude remarks this afternoon."

"You should," she agreed with venom in her smile.

  
  


He raised a dark eyebrow at the young girl - no, woman in front of him. He gave a slight bend at the waist, "I apologize Miss Granger."

  
  


"Thank you," she shifted then looked up at him. "I probably should not have been interfering. I'm perfectly aware that Neville is utterly hopeless in Potions but he does mean well."

  
  


"Meaning doesn't allow for sloppiness, Miss Granger."

  
  


She smiled resignedly and sighed. "I'm well aware." 

  
  


Severus bit back a chuckle, it was good to know he wasn't the only person that Longbottom frustrated. He knew Longbottom and Granger were friends, but for someone of her aptitude to deal with someone with such... lack thereof, must be difficult. He raised a hand to indicate for her to continue walking. As they fell into an easy pace, he spoke again, "But I had hoped to make a request of you."

  
  


Hermione raised a slim eyebrow. "Request?"

  
  


"Yes, to submit a thesis to the Potions apprenticeship for this summer."

  
  


He had expected her to look surprised, but not joyful. "Oh Professor - really?!"

  
  


He gave a short nod and she clapped her hands together. "I've had a thesis ready for ages, but I was sure I wouldn't get the opportunity to submit until my seventh year! Thank you!" Before he knew it, she flung herself at him to hug him tightly.

  
  


Severus stood ramrod straight for a second, and then raised a hand to pat her shoulder gently. "Yes, well...."

  
  


She jumped back, raising a hand to her mouth. "Oh, Professor - I'm sorry. I didn't - think..."

  
  


Severus gave her a tight smile, "Yes, that is the Gryffindor motto isn't it? It's of no concern - just have your thesis on my desk by Friday afternoon."

  
  


She nodded, mahogany ringlets bouncing. "I just need to add one or two things to it, I read a fascinating article in Ars Armatoria last month which gave me several ideas..."

  
  


They parted at the junction he took to his quarters. Upon entering, he removed his outer teaching robe and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his white starched shirt, which had somewhat lost it's creases during the day. He poured himself a small snifter of brandy and sat before his fire.

  
  


So Potter and Hermione - he had begun to think of her with her first name after she had hugged him, it seemed appropriate, had gone their separate ways. He remembered his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts as being rife with couples joining, fighting and splitting up. It was all so.... young. But in truth, a four month fling with a Ravenclaw brunette in his seventh year had been his last serious relationship. Considering he had taken the Dark Mark the next summer and had fled to Dumbledore's protection the summer after, he hadn't had much time for any other youthful trysts. He had been so caught up first in pain, and sex and fire that year and then suddenly so disgusted in himself. He had run to Dumbledore expecting an 'I told you so' from the elderly professor, who had tried so hard to keep him from that fall, that missed - impulsive step. Instead, he had regained a home, a purpose - but never redemption. And he had alienated himself from any kind of real attachments since then. Severus never thought of what kind of attachments he could have formed if not for that mistake. Thoughts of a wife, a family - were all too painful, those hopes too difficult to bear. He had his sister, though he rarely saw her. He had his life.

  
  


His life of separation. Gone were the friends from his school days, they had abandoned him when he had taken the mark. Those friends that had once been so dear. Gone were the so called compatriots of the Death Eaters, addicted to the blood and tears. The power that he had felt. The power of his retching into a bush that morning he had decided to leave. He had no real friends, he was friendly enough with most of the other Professors here, except for Trelawney the miserable bat, but each evening retreated to his own solitude. 

  
  


The brandy swirled in the glass, reflecting the light of the fire in translucent shimmers. Rather like the colour of Hermione's eyes, close to his as she pulled away from the impulsive embrace. Severus knew that she would submit the best thesis of the year, that he would have no choice but to take her on. That he would be spending two months alone with her in his family manor. That he knew he was was in trouble. 


	6. Chapter 5 : Kissing You

Chapter 5

Kissing You  
  


Pride can stand a thousand trials  
The strong will never fall  
But watching stars without you,  
My soul cried. Heaving heart is full of pain,  
Oh, oh, the aching.  
  
'Cos I'm kissing you, oh.  
I'm kissing, oh.  
  
Touch me deep, pure and true  
Gift to me forever.  
'Cos I'm kissing you, oh  
I'm kissing you.  
  
Where are you now? Where are you now?  
'Cos I'm kissing you  
I'm kissing you, oh, oh! 

It was the day before Saint Valentines when Ginny slipped down the stairs a few minutes before two a.m. Her Gryffindor red shawl was pulled tight over her shoulders to ward away the February chill. She had on warm plaid pyjama pants, three sizes too big as they used to be a pair of Bill's, but only a thin long sleeved white t-shirt on top. She couldn't quite bring herself to put on a sweater, she knew it would be practical but she rather liked the effect of the thin t-shirt. Or rather, how it would affect Draco. Ginny stifled a giggle.

She was halfway to the portrait when a throat cleared behind her.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Ginny tensed, swearing under her breath before she turned to face her youngest brother, where he had been slightly hidden in the large arm chair before the fire. "Out."

Ron leaned back to look her in the eye, and Ginny's heart sank as she saw the glass of firewhiskey in his hand. "Don't play games with me, Gin. Where are you going at two in the morning?"

She stepped towards him. "What are you doing up, Ron?"

He looked moodily into his glass, scowling. Ginny took another step.

"Ron."

"Justin and I are through."

"Oh Ron," she sat upon the arm of the chair and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"I told myself I knew what I was doing, that I could just let it be a fling and not let him hurt me again." Ron leaned his head against the plush rest. "I screwed up, again."

"Justin's a prat," Ginny soothed.

"Yeah, but I still want him." Ron took a long drink of his whiskey, then cracked an eye open at her. "But I'm not letting you distract me, missy. Where were you going?"

Ginny looked down at the carpet, tracing a pattern with her slippered foot. "The infirmary."

His eyes, their deep brown colour so like her own, narrowed. "What's so important in the infirmary that can't wait until morning?"

"He's lonely, Ron..." she began but was cut off as he swore.

"You're sneaking out at night to see Malfoy? Merlin, Gin, when you go bad - you go all the way, don't you?" Ron shook his head at her.

"He's not his father, Ron and you've been prejudiced against him for five years now..." she tried to plead Draco's case but Ron just gave her a deeper scowl.

"So now it's my fault that he's been a git to us since the first day?" 

Ginny looked down. "By 'us', I assume you're referring to you, Harry and Hermione." At his silence, she continued. "I'm not really a part of your little group, Ron. You can't expect me to agree with you on everything. And yes, Draco was a git when he was younger, but you can't fault him from being a product of his home."

"So you're admitting he's exactly like his father."

Ginny bit her lip, holding back an outburst that would spark a fight with her already maudlin brother. "No, I'm saying that he was under his father's influence and now he is not. He's becoming his own person, Ron."

Ron gave her a wary look. "A person you like?"

Ginny blushed delicately. "A person I more than like."

Ron opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it again, pursed his lips and took a long drink of the whiskey. 

A silence fell over the siblings as he looked into the fire and she watched him warily.

Finally. "I want you to be careful, Ginny. I don't like it - but I have a feeling I don't have much choice in this."

"Nope," she shrugged and planted a kiss on the top of his head. She took his chin and turned his face to face hers. "Go to bed, Ronnie. Sleep it off - things will be better in the morning."

He nodded, standing and brushing a kiss of his own onto her forehead. With a squeeze of her hand, he headed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory and she pulled her shawl about her again, and set off - leaving the common room.

---

When she reached the infirmary, Draco was leaning against the windowpane, arms crossed across his chest, covered by a grey cotton t-shirt. At the sound of her footfalls, he turned and a small smile graced his face.

"Hey."

She smiled back, her eyes lit up at the sight of him - he was so handsome in the moonlight. "Hey."

Draco motioned for her to join him at the window and she came to stand next to him, both gazing out at the stars.

Silence fell.

"Stargazing?" she asked.

"Um, yeah." was his brilliant reply. He didn't like looking at stars, usually, Astronomy had been termed a 'geek' course in the Slytherin dungeons since before his father's time. But he had been waiting for Ginny, hoping she would come. Also trying to pretend he wasn't quaking at the thought she might not come.

"Nice stars out tonight," Ginny started nervously.

"Quite," Draco agreed readily.

The silence returned.

Ginny sneaked a glance out the corner of her eye at him, and inadvertantly caught his own gaze. They both looked away. Ginny was trying to study the Sirius constellation when she felt the warmth of his side brushing against hers. A moment later his hand brushed against her outer hip and she held her breath. He tugged at her gently and she allowed him to pull her against his side. Both stood perfectly still for a long moment until she relaxed against his shoulder and both gave a little sigh.

His breath was warm against her hair. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

"Ron caught me on my way out."

His arm around her waist tightened slightly. "What happened?"

"I told him I was coming to see you."

And silence won another battle as Ginny wanted to smack herself for telling him that. And Draco wanted to smack himself for getting her into this situation.

"And let me guess, he forbid you to ever see me again." they were going to take her away, his angel - the only bright spot in his eternally crappy life.

She turned to look at him and slowly shook her head. "He wasn't happy, Draco - but he can't forbid me anything. He just wants me to be careful."

"Why do you have to be careful? I'd lose a limb before I ever hurt you," he whispered and delighted in the warmth of her eyes.

"I know that," she soothed, running a hand through his pale bangs. "Ron is just exercising the prerogative of the older brother - to be an overprotective prat. But he really has no standing to lecture me on healthy relationships, as he was nursing a drink over yet another break up with Justin Finch-Fletchley tonight."

Draco looked at her carefully. "So, you're not going to be - disowned for being seen with me?"

She shook her head. "No... I have my brothers wrapped around my pinkie in all actuality. If I tell them to - they probably won't touch you. Threaten yes, maybe a shake or two..."

"Oh you're making me feel so much better, angel." Draco closed his eyes and Ginny giggled.

She suddenly stopped and gave him a close look. She had caught that last word.

Draco swore mentally. He hadn't meant to let that slip. He thought of her as an angel, but he wasn't about to start telling her that and look like a complete dork. He did have his pride after all, and he wasn't about to lose it to a girl, pretty as she may be. Okay, very pretty. Exceptionally pretty. And the smell of her hair... was making him a little light headed. The fact she was standing next to him in plaid pants that hung low on her hips, exposing a good inch of pale midriff, beneath a white t-shirt that didn't leave much to the imagination. Imagination of perfect, round....  
  


Draco gave himself a mental smack upside the head.

Ginny was giving him a slightly confused look and he gave her a sheepish grin. "Just so long that if your brothers do come after me, you have my back."

"I'll always have your back, Draco." she assured him.

"Promise?" his voice was husky.  
  


"I promise," her voice was definitely full of promise and her eyes lidded as he pulled her even closer.  
  


Draco's breath was coming in short bursts as she raised up on the balls of her feet and he wrapped his other arm around her, to pull her torso flush against his. Her touch was pure warmth, where their bare skin touched fire burned. And when his lips pressed against hers, any chance Draco's heart ever had at standing against the onslaught that was Ginny Weasley was eternally, irrevocably and willingly lost. He was kissing her. Maybe stargazing wasn't so bad.


	7. Chapter 6 : These Days

Chapter 6

These Days

Making all these waves and I wonder where the days went.  
I sit and think of you, I hope the feeling's mutual.  
I'm seeing all you gave and,  
It somehow don't seem even close to what I'd do.  
To break in two seems natural.  
  
These days are great, there's work to do.  
Would you like to work with me, I'd love to work you.  
These days are great and so are you.  
I think it's something positive, and negative too.  
  
Playing all these games and, I wonder who's to blame it.  
I sit and think it's you, I'm sure the feelings mutual.  
We're growing cold. Its getting old.  
We should have known it's over.  
We'll be a real team, I told you.  


It was past dusk that early March evening when the rain finally drove Ron off the pitch. He, as Quidditch Captain, had sent the rest of the Gryffindors in as the sun had set. But he had charmed a few quaffles to hurtle towards him as he guarded the hoops.

As he strode along the quiet corridors, Ron balanced his broom across his shoulders, broadened by all those long days on the pitch, and ran a hand through his wet hair. Whistling 'Weasley is our King' underhis breath, Rod had nearly strode straight into Blaise Zabini before he stopped.

The two boys stood and appraied one another.

"Weasley, rare to see many Gryffindorks in these tunnels," Zabini drawled, resting his hand against the polished butt of his broom.

"These tunnels don't belong to Slytherins, Zabini, and I'm just coming back from practise," Ron countered, flicking his bangs away from his eyes and off his forehead.

"And how are those practises going? I know it was a great blow to the team when you lost your beloved captain, Johnson, last year..."

"You wish, Zabini. The team's in great shape - don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

Blaise quirked an eyebrow. "You think my head's pretty do you?"

The gauntlet was thrown. Hogwarts' population was small enough that there was no such thing as secrets - and that included sexual orientation. Ron was very much aware that Blaise had been dating other men exclusively for the last year, had even been one of the men Justin had dallied with during their last separation. Blaise was handsome, built and also very aware of Ron's own leanings. He was perfect. Except he was a Slytherin.

Of course Ron thought Blaise was pretty, but he wasn't about to let him know it.

Ron reached out a hand to run through Blaise's tousled dark curls. "That's for me to know, Zabini - and you to find out."

And Ron continued on his way. And so the game between the two young men began.

Over the next week or so, the two young men often seemed to find themselves alone or encountering one another. Banter would ensue, a flirtatious gesture made and then they would separate again. The tension built between the two. At dinner, Ron could feel the pressure of Blaise's gaze prickling between his shoulder blades and couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to to have Blaise licking and kissing him, following the trail of his spine....

It was those kind of thoughts that kept Ron up at nights.

The game came to a head, the two players having to finally make a move across the board, one evening in mid-March. Spring had finally seemed to settle upon the Scottish landscape around them, so Ron had decided to continue flying once he had taken the charms off the quaffles. He was flying above the pitch, letting the wind ruffle his hairand relaxing when he spotted a figure picking up altitude and flying towards him. It didn't take long to realize it was Blaise.

When the Slytherin was about equal to him, he turned to face the dark haired man. "Zabini," he acknowledged with the crooked smile that had never failed him to get him what, or who, he wanted.

The Slytherin raised an elegant eyebrow in response, "Weasley. A little late for you to be still flying, isn't it?"

Ron shrugged. "Not much later than usual. Why? Were you waiting for me?"

That raised a spark in Blaise's eye. "A Zabini waits for no one, we go after what we want."

Ron nudged his broom close to Blaise's, so that his knee brushed against the side of the Beater's thigh. "Then what are you waiting for?"

His gaze caught Blaise's speculative one. Ron smiled crookedly and ever so slowly leaned forward, towards the dark haired man, who had started to lean towards him. There was just time for a brief brush of lips against one another's when Ron suddenly jerked his broom away, his look teasing.

"You'll have to keep up with me, Zabini." was all he said before he shot off.

"Like you doubt I could, Weasel, " Blaise scoffed and took after the Gryffindor, who was streaking away towards the hoops. A chase ensued around the pitch, moving upwards and downwards. Both boys were best friends with Seekers, had picked up a few tricks over the years. Ron attempted a Wronski Feint, trying to pull up just before he hit the ground but overcompensating and pitching himself onto the ground, rolling with the momentum. Blaise lost his smile and pointed his broom towards the pitch - once he pulled up a few feet from the ground he hopped down and strode towards the motionless figure.

He kneeled down, "Weasley. Weasley," he repeated, shaking the defined shoulder and leaning down further. "Ron."

Eyelids fluttered open and a snarky grin crossed Ron's face, "I knew you could keep up with me." It was all he said before he pulled Blaise's face to his own to capture his lips in a searing kiss. Blaise groaned and his hands moved from where they had been shaking Ron's shoulders to run down his arm, caressing the muscles there. He settled his weight onto Ron's chest as the two boys battled for dominance within the kiss. Blaise pulled away to nibble and bite at Ron's neck, licking at his Adam's apple to make the other man moan and clutch at Blaise's curls. Ron pulled at Blaise and sucked at his earlobe, causing the Slytherin to whimper.

When they broke apart much later, the moon now higher in the sky, Blaise listened to Ron's heartbeat as he traced invisibly patterns upon his chest.

"We fly well together," was Ron's quiet comment.

"We'll have to fly again," Blaise replied. "We're a good team."

"In more ways than one" was Ron's groaned comment, nearly swallowed up by another kiss. 

The next time the kiss was stopped by the visible puffs of both's breaths. "It's getting a little chilly," Blaise commented.

Ron snorted. "You're not the one on the cold ground."

Blaise grinned wickedly, dropping a kiss on Ron's chin. "It's not my fault I'm the dominant one."

"Dominant? I'll show you dom..." Ron rolled over, pulling Blaise under him and began to suck at his pulse point, making Blaise fist the damp grass. He had a feeling playing these games with Ron would be a lot of fun. He wasn't sure if it would ever get old. It would be difficult, but no one was blind to the way Ron's sister and Malfoy had been dancing around one another. Maybe Blaise could have this, this thing that would be his and real. Maybe. He let his thoughts slide away as Ron's lips moved up his neck to capture his own again, and Blaise barely felt the chill.


	8. Chapter 7 : The First Cut is the Deepest

**Chapter 7**

**The First Cut is the Deepest**

_I would have given you all of my heart  
but there's someone who's torn it apart  
and he's taken just all that I have  
but if you want I'll try to love again  
baby, I'll try to love again, but I know...  
  
the first cut is the deepest  
baby I know  
the first cut is the deepest  
but when it comes to bein' lucky, he's cursed  
when it comes to lovin' me, he's worst..._

_I still want you by my side  
just to help me dry the tears that I've cried  
and I'm sure gonna give you a try  
if you want I'll try to love again, (try)  
baby, I'll try to love again, but i know...  
  
the first cut is the deepest  
baby I know  
the first cut is the deepest  
but when it comes to bein' lucky, he's cursed  
but when it comes to lovin' me, he's worst..._

Ginny glanced over her shoulder as she slipped into the shelves at the very back of the library. She needed some time alone to think and contemplate. She needed to be away from the chatter and attention of the common room and away from steel grey eyes that made her catch her breath.

            She slid down a wall and buried her head in her arms. Ginny had never meant to be a bad daughter or a bad Gryffindor. It had been ingrained in her from a young age that you simply did not associate with Slytherins, past or present. They represented all that was cruel in pure blood society and Gryffindors were above that. You could be a pure blood without declaring feud on all Muggle born – you simply had to be open minded. Slytherins were to be disparaged – you certainly weren't to kiss one in the infirmary. Not standing in the window, nor on his bed, chair or against the wall.

            The memories of the last few nights made Ginny blush just thinking about them. When Draco had first been brought into the infirmary she had felt a mixture of pity and a sense that he had gotten what he deserved. She was certainly sorry that his family was so horrid to force such a barbaric mark on him, but it was clear in her mind that Draco Malfoy was, and always would be, a prat. Being the youngest sister of six prats, albeit better tempered and kinder prats, she held little sympathy for such.

            But daily she was forced to see that Draco was so much more than a prat. He was a boy, like all her brothers – who had been badly scared and needed a shoulder to cry on. How she had gone from shoulder to snogging partner was beyond her.

            Well, that was a lie. Draco Malfoy was a drop dead gorgeous prat. She would have to be certifiable to not at least give it a shot with him. Have a little fling, then giggle as he would look agog at her – that she would be so daring to deny Draco Malfoy!

            Except, Ginny no longer even thought she would be able to deny. She wasn't sure she wanted to. All too quickly – Draco was more than a patient whom she comforted. He was the object of nearly every waking thought; the last few days had produced grades to prove it. The way his eyes lit up whenever she entered the infirmary guided her steps back there each and every night. The utter safety and warmth she felt in his arms kept her there for hours on end.

            Ginny stood as she sighed softly. She wished that she could be a proper fifteen year old in the midst of her first relationship, joyful and innocent – with a bent to become less innocent. But the chills that wormed up her spine when she looked at Draco sometimes held her back.

            She was chilled when she looked in his eyes, and saw a proud young man – and was all too reminded of Tom. He was a Slytherin, sometimes just looking at his scarf on the bed jolted her back in time – to when a young man wearing a similar scarf walked along side her in her dreams.

            Ginny had been wary of most men since her first year. She was especially wary of blonde men since she had looked up at Lucius Malfoy as he smiled at her – clutching her cauldron against her chin, which unbeknownst to her contained a very peculiar diary.

            She would never be that child again. She would never be a carefree girl in the midst of courtship and she would never let her children go out to play with great ease. Tom had stolen that from her as surely as he had sapped away her life force, along with her self esteem.

            Why would any one want Ginny? She had carroty red hair and wasn't very interesting. Those words had swirled around her head as she had stuck her tongue between her teeth and scratched upon the creamy parchment that first night at Hogwarts. What a surprise to that self conscious young girl when someone had begun to write back. She had always thought that her only unique attribute in her family was that she was the baby and the girl – together a dangerous combination in the protective feelings that arose in her brothers.

            Not protective enough, as they had let her slip by them each night on her way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

            Ginny hadn't been there since her first year and had no intention to revisit it. Ever.

            There were too many memories there. Cold water and damp stone. The big snake and the boy – standing there, waiting for her. Tom. Her best friend and worst enemy all wrapped up into one. He said that he loved her as he tried to rip away her soul.  If Ginny ever could – she'd lay every curse she could on him. Didn't matter the consequences, she'd have no problem calling out _Avada__ Kedavra_ should be presented the opportunity. She knew this now. But then - she'd had no idea until it was too late.

            She had been so scared.

            She was still scared now.

            She needed to be safe.

            She needed Draco.

            Setting aside every memory of Lucius Malfoy except for that he too had hurt Draco, she grabbed her bag and nearly ran from the library, ignoring Madam Pince's hiss to slow down. Ginny ran through the halls, turning the corners blindly. She pushed open the infirmary doors and with a sob flung herself towards the second bed on the left.

            Draco gathered her close as she started to cry against his shoulder.

            "Angel – what happened?" he asked softly.

            She merely shook her head and he let it go, letting her cry it out. When she calmed, she looked up at him with red rimmed eyes.

            "I was remembering…"

            His eyes flashed as he pressed a kiss against her temple. "There's no need to. He can't touch you again."

            Her eyes were far too old for her face as she shook her head sadly. "Doesn't matter – the scars still hurt."

            Draco looked down at his own scarred arm. "Will it always hurt?"

            Ginny cuddled up against him as she interlaced her fingers into his own. "I hope not."

            "Me too," was his quiet echo and then the two were silent, content to try to heal together.


	9. Chapter 8 : Is Anybody Home

**Chapter 8**

**Is Anybody Home**

_I can't find meaning  
I'm sorry, we're sorry  
We're all scared, all scared  
  
Hey, is anybody home  
Has anybody wasted tears on  
The loneliness  
That everyone becomes_

_Hey, is anybody home  
Has anybody painted fear  
On the bedroom walls that save us from . . ._

A week later, Draco was officially released from the infirmary and was declared free by Madam Pomfrey to resume his previous schedule of schooling and Quidditch. He was released on a Sunday afternoon, to settle in before he resumed classes. Madame Pomfrey was giving him a lecture upon how much rest he must have, to careful eating to encourage him to recoup his strength when the doors of the infirmary opened.

Ginny stepped in and met Draco's eyes for only a moment before she looked down to her toes, then slipping out again. Draco bit his lip, restraining himself from running after her. He knew that it would be incredibly difficult to carry on this relationship outside the walls of the infirmary – even with her brother's extremely grudging allowance. He couldn't expect to strut out with her on his arm.

Loneliness had been part of Draco's life for so long, but only now was he realizing how painful it was. He wouldn't go back to that – he would find some way to have Ginny with him. He just needed a plan.

He nodded quiet thanks to Madam Pomfrey and left the Infirmary. Most of the students in the halls ignored him, a few giving him wide eyed looks but his authority kept any overt stares to a minimum.

He tried to keep his saunter casual, to hide the fact that he was dreading this walk down to the dungeons that had been his home for these years at school – when he wasn't quite sure if it still was his home. Slytherins weren't exactly known for their understanding when someone turned their back on their ways. It was a harsh system, but for a reason. It was a desperate struggle that the wizarding world was locked in, though few actually admitted it – and you needed every ally you could get. If you were unsure of those allies, you were placing your life in their hands.

Slytherins happened to have a fondness for their own skins, and thus were a very suspicious bunch. An admitted refusal of their ways could warrant everything from shunning to a surreptitious knife in the back, or drop of poison in one's morning tea. Constant caution was a must: friends were doubted as mistrust held everyone apart, in a hope to survive the coming war.

Draco came to the top of the stairs leading down to the common room and paused. He had few real friends among his housemates. The loneliness of being an only child in a large manor had followed him to Hogwarts. Even his two stalwarts were not true friends. Goyle followed him only upon his father's orders, though Crabbe was a true companion, as he had been with Draco from when they were both small boys on smaller broomsticks, whooping as they rose a few measly feet above the ground. Yet even Crabbe held himself apart, the future protector not wanting to get too close to his charge. Draco and Blaise respected one another, but as two alpha males often found it rather difficult to get along. Thus, Draco's only real friend was…. Coming up the stairs towards him.

"Pans."

The blonde girl stopped halfway up the steps and a smile grew across her upturning face.

"So the conquering deserter returns," she quipped.

He shook his head at her and dropped his shoulder bag, opening his arms slightly. "C'mere, you annoying biddy."

She grinned cheekily as she sauntered up the last few stairs between them and stepped into his hug. "Missed you, Malfoy. Things are always depressingly dull without you – though you certainly did shake things up with that entrance. I hope the house elves managed to get the blood out of that angora sweater you had on."

He shrugged as she stepped back. "I can always get a new one."

Her brown eyes – so dark they were nearly black- narrowed briefly. "Draco…"

His mouth tightened as he remembered. "Right. I forgot for a moment I was disowned."

Pansy's nose, having grown out of it's more obvious piggish tendencies, wrinkled. "Well, not quite. Though I did receive a missive from the Parkinsons that I was not to 'associate, relate with or acknowledge you as anything more than air'. I have a feeling the betrothals off." She fanned her face dramatically in reaction to this word from her parents, whom she had refused to as 'The Parkinsons' for years. "Whatever I shall do without having the honour of being your wife – is beyond me."

Draco scowled at her half heartedly. While he loved Pansy dearly, it was as a sister, and both had often shuddered at the idea of consummating their planned marriage. "So you're going to continue to be my friend to royally piss off your parents, then?"

She shrugged, "Why else do I do anything? It would take the fun out of things."

Draco was going to continue to tease her over her rebellious ways when the other part of what she had told him clicked. "What do you mean that I'm not quite disowned – there's really no halfway to it."

Pansy casually tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, taking the opportunity to glance around to be sure no one was listening in. "You've had a few letters from the Manor – I had Vince put them in your trunk."

Letters. From his mother. Draco's spirits rose measurably. Hopefully Lucius hadn't taken out too much of his rage on her, more likely on the first unfortunate Muggle born girl he came across. He nodded swiftly.

She laid a hand on his arm. "You go do some reading. I'm dying for a smoke." Pansy fished her small silver plated cigarette case out of her pocket as she spoke.

Draco shook his head fondly at her. "You know those are terrible for you. Even the Muggles have clued into that, you daft girl."

"I'm blonde, not daft you prick. I know they're awful but they're terribly calming – and you should see my mother's face when I have them, it gets even more pinched than usual." She made to move away but he held her arm.

Draco nodded towards the door at the bottom of the steps. "What's it like these days?"

"Will you be tarred and feathered, you mean?" She raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. "Draco, we may be forced to live with a houseful of power hungry children who would usually be at your throat for refusing the Lord – you still play a mean game of Quidditch. You're our Captain, and no one's going to mutiny while there are still two more games this season. The mob mentality isn't that dumb."

"So I'm saved by Quidditch then?" Draco chuckled to himself.

Pansy sighed and nodded resignedly. "You are indeed, though I will never understand this school's ridiculous obsession with that barbaric game."

He took a half hearted swipe at her for that which she easily side stepped. "Just you wait," he wagged a finger at her. "Just wait – you're going to marry some Quidditch obsessed man one day.

She snorted, "Not if I can help it. Now Draco, I really must run out for a smoke before Snape comes round to make sure you're settled in, without any scorpions under your pillow." Pansy patted his arm again. "Go do some reading, m'dear." With that, she sauntered away.

Now heartened again with Pansy's support and knowledge, and with the promise of word from his mother, Draco squared his shoulder and went down the steps to the door.

He opened the door, a sarcastic, "I'm home," falling from his lips as he did and entered the House of Slytherin.


End file.
